Blindsided
by ALEO
Summary: “FBI!” Don managed to rasp, his throat raw. The pressure of the gun increased. – Don finds that chasing an armed offender into an old building doesn’t always go as planned. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1

**Numb3rs: Blindsided**

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own them, I just borrowed them. Numb3rs and its characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. No financial reward gained. All real places and organisations are used in a fictional sense. Original characters and the storyline are mine however._

"_**FBI!" Don managed to rasp, his throat raw. The pressure of the gun increased. – Don finds that chasing an armed offender into an old building doesn't always go as planned.**_

**CHAPTER ONE**

-1-10100-10100-1-11-1011-

As the minutes wore on it was obvious that their quarry was getting desperate.

The powerful red sedan took the last corner just that little bit too fast and started to slide. The pursuing black suburban held the turn, giving up a small amount of speed for control but maintained the pressure even as the distance between the two vehicles temporarily increased. The red sedan couldn't recover from the slide and spun out, passenger side crumpling as it hit a power pole outside an old apartment building. Here the skill of the driver of the suburban came even more into play as he rapidly adjusted the heavy vehicle's path and avoided colliding with the remains of the red sedan. The suburban went into a controlled slide, turning a full 180 degrees to come to a stop facing their quarry.

A moment later the driver's door of the damaged vehicle was forced open and the single male occupant pushed his way out, a familiar dark object held in one hand. He staggered but regained his footing, turning and firing twice. He was satisfied when he saw two heads duck down, taking shelter behind the SUV's open doors. He was granted a moment which he took full advantage of, running into the darkened doorway of the run-down and obviously vacant building. His access made all the easier by the lack of a door and he quickly disappeared into the darkness.

Out in the street a moment passed before there was any movement or sound.

"You alright?"

"Fine, Don. You?" Special Agent Colby Granger straightened and peered quickly across the interior of their vehicle to his boss.

Special Agent Don Eppes nodded curtly and bobbed up to check the location of Pankow. It had only been a few seconds but the Russian hitter was gone. There was no sign of him on the surrounding street leaving only one option. He took a deep breath to settle the latest hit of adrenalin in his system caused by the shots fired at them. His gaze settled briefly on the remains of the red sedan.

It had been pure happenstance that they had come across the man. They'd been driving back to the FBI's Los Angeles Field Office after interviewing a witness from a recent home invasion. They'd stopped at a red light and Yuri Pankow had the misfortune to pull up next to them. His claim to fame was as an up and coming hitman working for the Russian mob that was still trying to take over the city's underworld. Colby, sitting in the passenger seat of Don's suburban had recognised him instantly.

There was no connection to the string of home invasions they were investigating but that didn't mean they wouldn't take the opportunity to bring Pankow in. His face was on want bulletins posted around the Field Office, evidence firmly tying him to a number of murders and he was a strong suspect in at least two more deaths. Pankow, not surprisingly, had taken off the moment they'd identified themselves. The pursuit had been underway for nearly ten minutes before the Russian had been pushed into making his mistake. While it had seemed like nearly forever, the pursuit had not been running long enough for back-up to make it through the heavy downtown traffic to assist them.

Don turned back to Colby to order their final location and status called in but saw that the junior agent already had his cell to his ear and was speaking with Control. Colby snapped his phone closed and their gazes met.

"We waiting?" Colby queried, already suspecting that he knew the answer.

The senior agent turned his attention back to the building in front of them. The ten story apartment building was one of many semi-recently abandoned buildings in this part of town. This one allegedly due for demolition on some unknown future date if the notice of development posted outside was anything to go by. The frontage was shabby but surprisingly it had more than it's fair share of intact glass windows and less than the usual amount of graffiti for such a building. That could mean something or nothing, anything could be waiting for them inside. Not the least of which was a wanted murderer. He made his decision.

"Let's go." The longer they waited the more likely it was that Pankow would either find a good hiding spot or another way out of the building. The pressure had to be maintained, the fugitive was not thinking too clearly, firing on them was a sure sign of that. It took a desperate man to fire on federal agents, with the guaranteed charge of attempted murder.

The two agents sprinted for the door, there was always the chance that Pankow had taken up a position to fire on them again. A few seconds later they made it to the comparative safety of the sides of the doorway without incident. A final check with each other and they moved, Don heading in first, Colby an instant behind. Each took only a few steps before crouching and waiting in silence, one on each side of the foyer. As their eyes adjusted to the relative darkness after the bright sunlight outside they each listened for a clue as to their quarry's whereabouts.

They were rewarded with the sound of running footsteps coming from above them. Don's eyes had finally adjusted and he could now clearly see a set of stairs at the end of the narrow foyer. Colby followed as he rose and they started moving as quickly as was safe, slowed by the need to maintain silence. This was where Pankow had a slight advantage, as in the pursuit his greater speed would increase the distance between them. But just as in the pursuit their more cautious approach should work to their advantage eventually. They would continue to push Pankow forcing him to make mistakes while at the same time not allowing the fugitive the opportunity to set an ambush by revealing their own location.

They went up a flight before stopping and listening again. The running steps had stopped, Pankow having achieved a good sized gap from his pursuers but a faint scrape let them know they needed to go up another flight. Moving much slower now and covering each other the two agents made the climb upwards, easing around the landing mid-way before reaching the third floor. There was no reaction, no bullets sent their way. Another look and shared nod and they started clearing the floor.

No conversation was needed, they had done this often enough that they knew each other's moves. It was slow going but as each abandoned room was checked they were assured that the building behind them was clear and that Pankow was ahead of them, blocked from escaping back down the internal stairs. They also kept the fire escape at the end of the main hallway under constant surveillance as they went. If Pankow tried for that they would know within moments.

It came as some surprise then when there was the unmistakeable sound of gunshots on the floor above them. The two agents stared at each other for a moment, both their weapons automatically pointed upwards towards the sound.

"He's up there?" Colby whispered, breaking their silence.

Don glanced upwards. Until that point there had been every indication that Pankow was on this level. Unusually there had also been every indication that the building was totally abandoned, they had not disturbed anyone during their search for the Russian. There was no time at the moment to wonder why the derelict building wasn't a haven for the homeless there was a job that needed doing. Don started back towards the stairs. "He must be, let's go."

Repeating their last careful ascent they made it up to the fourth floor. There were no more shots and now that they were on the correct level there was no obvious reason for the shots. There was still no evidence of any other people, Pankow must have been shooting at shadows. The agents would need to be very careful closing in on the increasingly desperate Russian.

The layout of the rooms on the fourth floor was different from the floor below, whilst those had been mostly single bedroom apartments these were multi-room, some as many as three bedrooms. Their search slowed as their anxiety increased, it would be easier now for Pankow to make it past them while they were deep inside such an apartment. There was nothing for it but to continue their search as carefully as they could. They were in the fourth such apartment, this one only two bedroom, when they opened a partially closed door to find Pankow lying motionless on the floor. The growing pool of blood around his torso explained why.

This time it was a puzzled look that the agents shared before Don jerked his head. In response Colby moved to check the room whilst his partner kept his weapon aimed at the Russian. Until the room was cleared they wouldn't be able to confirm that their quarry was dead.

"Clear." Colby reported a moment later after checking the small bathroom adjoining the room.

Don moved in and quickly confirmed that Pankow was no longer a threat to anyone. His fingers on the Russian's neck failed to find a pulse and the spread of the blood already seemed to be slowing.

"What happened?" Colby asked as he approached to take a closer look. There was no sign of trauma to the fugitive's head. "He shoot himself?"

"Twice?" Don shook his head. After a moment of careful observation, fixing the body's exact position in his memory before he disturbed the scene, he reached out and carefully rolled the body partway over to reveal Pankow's chest. The body had been lying in a strangely slightly hunched pose and now he saw the reason for that, the handle of a large knife protruded from the man's chest, the blade fully embedded. "I don't think this is his."

Colby raised his gun as it was confirmed there was someone else in the building with them, someone capable of killing an armed man. Something about the knife seemed familiar and he moved closer, bending over to inspect the handle. There was no mistake, he'd recognise the style of knife anywhere. "That's a KA-BAR knife."

"Huh?" The senior agent noticed that his partner was immediately on greater alert with the identification of the weapon.

"Marine fighting knife." Colby explained, scanning the cleared room with renewed suspicion. "Not something you'd leave behind."

"The gun's missing," Don started. There was no sign of the Russian's weapon, either in the man's dead hand or on the floor in the room. He was thinking that the unknown assailant had simply swapped up to a more superior weapon.

Colby saw the direction his boss' thoughts had gone and shook his head. "A knife is a better friend than a gun. It doesn't jam or run out of ammunition. You don't leave a knife behind unless you absolutely have to."

Don was becoming alarmed at his partner's tone, especially as he knew Colby was experienced in this area from his time in the military. He touched the end of the knife with one finger, feeling that it was firmly embedded, most likely into bone. That indicated the degree of force that had been used to stab the Russian and the reason it had been discarded. His initial thoughts that some homeless man or drunk had stabbed the intruder evaporated. He looked back up at the junior agent. "You're thinking someone with military training took him out?"

Colby nodded tightly, moving towards the bedroom door clearly intending to recheck the rest of the apartment. He knew it was as obvious to Don as it was to him that the mystery man couldn't be too far away.

Don eased the body back into it's original position before standing and lowering his voice even further than his previously quiet tones. "How long before our backup gets here?"

"Any minute now." Colby's voice was equally hushed.

The senior agent nodded and flicked his eyes to the right. They would recheck the apartment for the unknown new player. Colby moved left as Don took the room to the right. Nothing, the apartment was just as empty as before. Colby raised an eyebrow and jerked his head towards the hall.

Don answered Colby's question with a single nod, they would continue to search the floor. Some may have said that the mystery man had done them a favour by taking out the Russian hitter but Don was working on the simple fact that a man had killed another, was now in the wind and was armed. He needed to be found.

Entering the apartment on the opposite side of the hall they moved carefully, checking each possible hiding spot before moving onto the bedrooms and bathroom. With no furniture and basic fittings such as a single kitchen counter and only one built in closet per room it didn't take long. The apartment directly next to the one containing the dead Russian was the same as the first, a large pile of trash in the corner being the only extra furnishing. Don followed Colby back out into the hall before suddenly stopping and looking back. There had been something…

"Don?" Colby hissed.

He shook his head, for a moment he'd thought he'd seen the edge of the trash move. There was nothing now, it must have been a rat burrowing into the pile. There had been a more than a few of the rodents scurrying around. He turned and jerked his head at the next door across the hall. Another three bedroom apartment, same as the previous one and just as quickly cleared. Again Don followed Colby from the room.

The sudden blur of movement was totally unexpected. A dark shape collided with Colby pushing him out of sight. There was a sickening crack followed by a shout of pain and the unmistakeable dull thud of a body falling. Despite only being a couple of yards behind his partner by the time Don reached the doorway and stepped out into the hall it was all over. He had time to see Colby sprawled motionless on the floor several yards away and hope that he was only out cold before a large shape rushed at him.

He managed a hard shove that sent both he and his opponent stumbling back gaining precious space. With the added distance the shape transformed itself into a man wearing what appeared to be clothing made out of trash. Unhampered by trying to recover from a surprise attack the man was already starting to move in.

"FBI, freeze!" Don shouted, struggling to regain his balance and bring his weapon to bear.

He was nearly on target when the man launched himself at the agent. Don got a round off that went wild before the solidly built man slammed bodily into him forcing him back into the wall. In the same movement his gun hand was seized and slammed hard above his head. He barely maintained his grip on his weapon. Before he could begin to counter the move the man's other forearm was laid across his throat as he used his greater height and weight to apply pressure, pinning the agent in place. Don sharply raised his knee aiming at the man's groin but the other twisted and took the blow on his thigh. The man moved closer, using almost his entire body now to lean on the agent to prevent any further such attempts.

Black spots started appearing at the edges of his vision as his breathing was reduced to short gasps insufficient to his needs, the arm across his throat stopping him from taking drawing full breaths as the struggle continued. His attacker' eyes were filling his vision and he could see only determination in their dark depths. He had only one more unrestrained line of defence. With his free left arm he aimed a desperate punch at the man's head, the close quarters reducing the power behind his fist. The man seemed prepared and simply jerked his head to the side allowing the blow to glance off without effect. The arm across Don's throat pushed harder and the agent gagged as his airway was completely blocked. He could get no more air. Putting all his remaining strength into it Don tried to twist his right hand downwards to aim the Glock at his attacker.

The hand around his wrist tightened, the fingers pulsing and shifting, causing the bones in his wrist to grind together. The pain was incredible and despite his best efforts his hand opened allowing his weapon to fall to the threadbare carpeted floor with a dull thud. Becoming even more frantic as panic started to rise he kept fighting. He lost the strength in his legs from the lack of oxygen and would have fallen if not for the arm steadily crushing his throat. The attacker's dark eyes maintained their intense stare as he went limp and his vision faded to black.

It was all over.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Numb3rs: Blindsided**

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own them, I just borrowed them. Numb3rs and its characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. No financial reward gained. All real places and organisations are used in a fictional sense. Original characters and the storyline are mine however._

**CHAPTER TWO**

-10100-1-1011-101-1110-

Don found himself lying in a heap on the floor, shivering in reaction, his breath coming in great gasps as his body tried to make up for lost oxygen. His left hand went automatically to his throat as if he could ease the pain in his neck. His right went to brace himself against the floor, wrist throbbing painfully as he forced himself up to his knees. He coughed and couldn't believe that he was still alive. Full realisation returned and although still somewhat groggy he started looking around to assess the situation.

He first saw Colby still lying motionless facedown on the floor a short distance away. To Don's great relief he saw the younger man's back rise and fall steadily, he was breathing. It also meant that not much time had passed and they were still in grave danger. He started to crawl towards his partner, knowing that he was as yet not recovered enough to make it to his feet when there was a sound and then movement behind him. The danger was far more imminent that he had feared, he'd allowed himself to become focused on his partner and was now going to pay for that lapse.

Cursing his slowed reactions he started to turn when something grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled. As he was lifted to his feet he reacted instinctively, striking backwards with his injured right hand. His flailing hand struck the man behind him a solid blow, eliciting a grunt. In reaction he was shoved hard into the wall on the opposite side of the hall. There was a sudden crack as his automatically outflung left hand hit the wall and something broke. He managed to choke off his cry of pain at the familiar metallic sound behind him. Already deadly serious the confrontation had just ramped up another level. An instant later a hard object was pushed against the base of his skull.

"FBI!" Don managed to rasp, his throat raw. The pressure of the gun increased, as did the weight of the man against his back crushing him against the wall. His broken left hand, trapped between his body and the wall sent spikes of fiery pain lancing up his arm. Despite his dire predicament he was finding it hard to concentrate. There was a moment of stillness before hot breath tickled his left ear.

"Say that again." A harsh voice demanded.

"Federal agent. FBI." Don forced out, invoking his last potential means of protection.

"American?" The man seemed disbelieving.

Not understanding the man's question Don could only repeat himself. "FBI."

Abruptly the weight on his back was gone. Before he could move however he was pulled away from the wall, spun and pushed back. The gun, held safely back out of the agent's reach, was raised to aim at a spot between his eyes. The man's left hand rested firmly around his throat as much to hold him against the wall as additional threat. He could at least still breathe as the man hadn't tightened his grip. Don's right hand came up in reflex and grasped the man's wrist but he had no strength to do more than that, his left hung useless at his side.

Holding still under the twin threats he saw that his attacker was scrutinising him closely in the face as if searching for something. As the seconds passed he became aware of approaching sirens. Also aware that this was his first opportunity to do so the agent made his own observation of his attacker. The man was possibly aged in his late twenties and clearly Caucasian even if his facial features were obscured under a layer of dirt and tangled, matted hair. His clothing, as best Don could see, consisted of a shapeless outfit made from pieces of trash held together with lengths of string and rags. That explained the movement he'd noticed earlier in the pile of trash in the corner of the previous apartment, it had been the man shifting in concealment.

"Not Guard." The man finally said.

Not knowing who this 'guard' was Don opened his mouth to identify himself when the sirens, very close now, suddenly stopped. The man's head quickly twisted towards the stairs and Don realised that this was the first time the man had noticed their approach. The hand on his throat tightened slightly in response to the faint sounds of car doors slamming and then voices coming from below. Calls of 'FBI' floated upwards. His throat was abruptly released as the man grabbed his shirt, pulling him away from the wall before shoving him down the hall.

"Move."

He'd barely regained his balance and in all had taken only a few stumbling paces before he was unexpectedly dragged to a stop. Don turned to see his captor aiming his weapon at Colby's unconscious form.

"No!" Don shouted, lunging at the man's gun hand.

The man avoided the move and shoved Don away. Off balance the agent stumbled and fell. He rolled in agony as his left hand struck the floor and twisted but his fear for Colby had him forcing himself to his knees. He stared back at the man in helplessness, knowing that he was too far away and would be unable to further defend his partner in time. There was only one thing left, "Don't!"

The man appeared torn for a moment, weapon again aimed at Colby's defenceless back. But the raised voices from below calling in response to Don's yells started him moving. He stepped away from Colby and aimed the gun at Don, repeating his earlier order. "Move."

Cradling his broken left hand against his chest with his injured right Don made it back to his feet and did as directed, allowing himself to be pushed quickly down the hall towards the fire escape. The relief he felt may have been at odds with his situation, being forced away from backup, but every step away reduced the risk to Colby even further. He may have been unable to stop himself being taken hostage but at least he'd managed to prevent the man from killing his helpless partner.

"Open it." The man ordered as they reached the windowed door.

Forcing his stiffening right wrist to work, Don got enough purchase to turn the handle and push the door open. He was shoved out onto the steel grating of the landing and held against the railing with one hand as the man quietly pushed the door closed with his other. The view of the alley below was dizzying and for a moment he wondered if the hand on his back was going to push him over the rail.

"Up."

The external stairs shifted slightly as they moved upwards, no longer maintained the fire escape was deteriorating even more rapidly than the building. As dangers went though, it was less significant than the man behind him. Continuing the climb the agent tried flexing his right wrist in an effort to assess the damage caused by the man's grip. He could move the hand but only painfully, his grip greatly weakened as a result. It was of limited use. His other was definitely broken, he wasn't sure where, his whole hand felt like it was on fire, already swelling and would not obey his command to move. With two virtually useless hands he could not turn and try to use his superior position on the fire escape to any advantage without the means of balancing or bracing himself.

They had reached the second landing when he was ordered to stop and open the fire escape door. Again he managed to work the handle designed to be simple in an emergency. They entered the sixth floor and moved along the hallway. He was pulled to a halt as they approached the stairwell and admonished to keep silent. With the man holding onto the back of his shirt and ramming the muzzle of the gun into his lower back Don obeyed the order as he was pushed over to a spot near the railing. The man held him still while he listened for evidence of pursuit.

There were the sounds of people in the stairwell, along with voices. The back-up team were making their way up. He hoped that with his earlier shouts they would find Colby fairly quickly. After that though it would take a few minutes to figure out what had happened and act accordingly. It would be a little while before the search for him began. Appearing to be satisfied the man pulled him away and they headed further down the hall before entering an apartment.

Don was given a shove and released. He stumbled to a stop in the middle of the family room before turning to keep an eye on his captor. He watched as the door was closed and the man lifted a bar to place in slots mounted in the frame. He glanced quickly around the room and saw that it had some basics of furniture, an old couch, a chair and a small table. Several piles of trash appeared to have been deliberately placed near the kitchen counter. An old mattress and some tattered blankets could be seen through a doorway leading to a bedroom. A second room was closed off. This was clearly the man's home, the first signs of habitation the agent had noted in the entire building.

Using the man's brief distraction Don moved closer to the window in the hope that it might provide him with an escape route. He saw that it was pinned closed with removable bolts as if the man were concerned that someone may attempt entry that way. It was still a possible exit, he could see the fire escape of the opposite building just barely within jumping distance. It was risky, especially with his hands the way they were but if he had no other option he would have to make a try for it.

He looked back at the man to see he'd finished barricading the door and was now reaching into one of the piles of obviously sorted trash set near the end of the kitchen counter. This one contained lengths of string, rope and wire all tangled together. The man came up with a length of heavy cord and advanced towards the agent. Sensing what the man intended Don backed away, right hand held up as if to fend him off.

"No. You don't need to do that." His throat protested and he had to cough before he could continue. "I'm not going to try anything."

"Quiet! Don't move."

At the threat of the raised gun Don had to stop and let the man approach. He tried again, unable to keep his voice down as his message became more urgent. "My hand is broken, I can't-"

In a blur of motion the gun swung and struck him on the side of his head. Spinning, he went down hard and for a moment he was aware only of his heart beating rapidly and the pain in his head. He was then rolled onto his chest and felt his arms being grabbed and pulled behind him. The pain as his wrists were bound was intense but he was too stunned to do more than catch his breath at the jerks as each loop was pulled into place. As his strength and greater awareness returned he was being dragged over towards the side of the room where the man pulled him up and propped him sitting against the wall. After a moment Don was able to move his hips forwards slightly to give his trapped hands some space.

"You make too much noise and I'll kill you." The man hissed, gun waving in front of his captive's face.

The agent could only manage a single careful nod, in no shape to do anything else at the moment. It would have been so easy right about then to close his eyes, slide down the wall onto his side and rest but he fought the urge, forcing himself to stay alert. Taking deep breaths the throbbing in his hands and head slowly eased.

The man had appeared satisfied with the agent's acquiescence and had moved away, placing the gun in easy reach on the end of the kitchen counter. He quickly pulled at the collection of trash he was wearing and it came off like some shapeless coat. Don was reminded of the camouflage outfits snipers used to conceal themselves. Underneath the man was wearing dirty and faded desert pattern fatigues. It seemed that Colby was right, it was looking even more likely that the man had been a soldier. Despite his unkempt appearance his moves to take down the two FBI agents indicated he was a highly skilled one.

The two Glocks now visible tucked into his waistband were pulled out and placed on the bench next to the other gun. He opened a drawer and pulled out a second KA-BAR knife that he slid into the sheath at his belt with a satisfied pat on the hilt. He stopped and stared at the agent for a few seconds until he seemed reassured that his captive was remaining where he'd left him. Reaching for the first gun he spent the next few minutes stripping each weapon, checking each over thoroughly before reassembling and reloading then placing them into the opened drawer.

As the man worked Don risked the pain and shifted his arms slowly. He found that he actually had a degree of movement, the cord seemed to have some small amount of slack. He had to stop though, the pain from his broken hand was sufficient to prevent any attempt at freeing himself, something he figured the man must have counted on when leaving the bonds relatively loose.

Tasks completed the man stepped up to the door, placing his ear against it to listen to what was happening outside. He then moved to the window and peered out, taking care not to show himself to any possible watchers. Apparently not seeing anyone he reached up and pulled a tattered, gauzy curtain across. It would block vision into the apartment but still allow him to see out. Noting again the barricaded door and bolts securing the window Don came to the unwelcome conclusion that the man was prepared for a siege. Finally he turned and approached the seated agent.

"You are American." The man declared in a low voice, crouching a foot or so away.

Again not understanding the man's point Don cleared his throat and introduced himself, obeying the man's earlier order to keep his voice down. That was a lesson he didn't want repeated. "Special Agent Eppes. FBI."

The man's head cocked to one side as he digested Don's response. "Fed?"

"Yes. Federal agent."

"Prove it."

"ID in my pocket." It seemed the badge on his belt was insufficient.

The man dug into the agent's pocket and pulled out the slim leather wallet. He inspected the photographic ID carefully, looking for holograms before comparing the image to his captive. "What's a fed doing here?"

"The man you killed," Don paused wondering if his words had been unwise but the man simply nodded. "He was wanted. We were trying to arrest him."

"He was Guard?"

"What guard?"

"Republican Guard."

"No, he was Russian." Don responded before the man's words fully penetrated. Republican Guard? He put together the term with the man's form of dress, surely he couldn't mean the Iraqi Republican Guard?

"Russian." The man repeated in surprise. "What are Russians doing here?"

"Where's here?" Don started. It hadn't sounded as though he'd meant the building. "What-?"

The man suddenly looked at him with concern. "I hit you too hard?"

Don flinched back at the raised hand that moved towards the side of his head. But there was only so far he could move and the man was able to grasp hold of his head and turn it to one side to inspect the area he'd struck with the gun.

"You don't know where you are?" The man asked, still holding him.

"No, I," Don stopped himself from saying that he did know exactly where he was. It might be useful if he knew where the man thought he was. "No."

It earned him a penetrating stare before the man declared, "I hit you too hard."

Moving abruptly he went to the kitchen opening a cupboard before digging into another pile of trash in the corner. He came back with a bottle of water and a couple of rags. Crouching he wet one of the rags. He grabbed Don's chin with one hand, again turning his head, before applying the wet rag to the wound caused by his gun. His ministrations were surprisingly gentle but Don couldn't help the hiss of pain when the man rubbed a little too hard over a particularly tender spot. The rag, now red in patches, was rewet, folded and pressed gently over the area like a cold compress for a few moments. Don relaxed slightly as the cool dampness eased the constant throbbing.

The rag was withdrawn and the bottle of water lifted towards him. "Want some?"

"Please." It had taken a fair bit of his will power not to ask for the water sooner. Swallowing hurt but after a few mouthfuls the pain in his throat eased.

"Better?"

"Yes." He hesitated then thought it was worth the shot since the man had seemingly gone from captor to carer. "My hands?"

"No. Not yet. You might be working for them." The man's tone had changed again, returning to suspicion.

"Them? Them, who?" He felt like he was floundering in the dark, very little of what the man said made any sense. It seemed that the man felt that Don should know far more than he did. The dangerous mood swings didn't help any.

"The Guard."

Don was confused. One moment the man thought he was a part of the Republican Guard, the next he was satisfied he was trying to arrest a Guard member and now was suspicious that he was working for them. Knowing it was most probably useless he felt he had to make the denial as emphatically as he could. "I'm not working for any Guard. I work for the US Government. I'm an FBI agent."

"Maybe, maybe not. We'll see."

The man wet the second rag and worked at cleaning off his own face, removing the dirt that Don could now see had been deliberately applied like a kind of camouflage paint. The face that was revealed was youthful even if hardened, confirming his earlier guess at age. The dark eyes, stark now in the pale face appeared even more unforgiving than before. He took a pull on the bottle before offering the remainder.

Don shook his head, an automatic response at the possible sharing of bodily fluids. His captor simply shrugged his shoulders before draining the last of the water.

"My name is Don." The agent offered in an attempt to build some badly needed rapport.

The man didn't respond with his own name as Don had hoped. Instead, "You shouldn't be here. CIA maybe, not FBI."

He tried again. "Where's here?" That earned him an odd look as if he were trying to pull some sort of trick.

"Baghdad." The man finally answered.

That left him with a more than obvious conclusion, he was in serious trouble.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Numb3rs: Blindsided**

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own them, I just borrowed them. Numb3rs and its characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. No financial reward gained. All real places and organisations are used in a fictional sense. Original characters and the storyline are mine however._

**CHAPTER THREE**

-1000-1111-10011-10100-1-111-101-

A few minutes had passed since his captor's revelation of where he thought he was. During that time he had rechecked the window and listened again at the door. Don could hear the sounds of the FBI team calling out having commenced their search, the voices steadily becoming louder but as yet too far away to be understood. The man also heard the voices and became increasingly agitated, pacing the room like a caged animal.

The agent waited, hoping that the rescue team would reach him before the man completely lost it. The realisation that he was in the hands of a well trained soldier, a Gulf War veteran who seemed to be suffering from delusional paranoia was more than worrying. There was a louder sound from below, a door kicked open perhaps and the man reacted.

"They're too close. Got to gather intel." The man told himself. He suddenly spun and rushed across the room to crouch beside his captive. "Why are you here?"

"To arrest the man you killed. The Russian." Don repeated immediately. He sensed that any hesitation on his part would most likely have serious consequences.

"No. That's not right. There are no Russians here." The KA-BAR knife was drawn from it's sheath. It was held it up, the blackened blade threateningly close. "You will tell me the truth."

"I am!" The agent insisted, his blood chilling at the man's ominous tone. The care and concern shown for him moments ago was gone replaced by a determination to make him talk. Once again the dark eyes filled his vision as the man leant in holding his gaze with his own. There was nowhere he could go to avoid the cold touch of the blade against his neck. Swallowing against the knife and his own rising fear as his situation deteriorated he tried to make the man see sense. "I'm FBI, my partner is FBI. This is Los Angeles, not Baghdad."

"You are a spy. They sent you and those others here to take me out. You attacked me."

"No. We weren't here for you. You killed the man we were trying to arrest. He was Russian Mafia. You attacked us and tried to kill my partner." By reminding the man of his own actions he hoped that the soldier would hear the rest of what he was saying.

"Your partner?" The question was asked slowly as if he didn't really understand the term. In the context of Baghdad and the Republican Guard it probably didn't.

Reminding himself that Colby had been breathing when he'd last seen him Don managed to push down the worry he felt and explained. "Special Agent Granger, the man you were about to kill in the hall. He's my partner. That's why I had to stop you."

"He's Guard." The soldier's voice became smug, finally hearing what he wanted through the filter of his delusion. "You admit working for them."

He was getting nowhere, the man was loosing his grip on reality and pressed the blade even more firmly against his skin. Unable to help the exasperated sigh and upwards glance as if he could find divine intervention on the grubby ceiling, Don repeated desperately, "He's FBI. This is Los Angeles."

"Los Angeles?" The triumphant grin slipped slightly as a flicker of confusion crossed his face.

"Yes, Los Angeles. This is the US, you are not in Iraq. We are not in Iraq."

"What about those Guard below? They are looking for you."

"Yes, they're looking for me." Don confirmed and the blade tightened further in response. He had to elaborate, he had no doubt that the knife would be very sharp. He wondered how much more weight the man could put behind it before the Los Angeles Field Office would be looking for a new supervisor. "They're federal agents, we called for back-up when we followed the Russian into the building."

"They're here to get you back." The soldier dismissed the agent's explanation. "They want to take me away."

Don didn't respond, both statements were true, the second particularly apt. The man desperately needed to be taken away but there was no way to tell him that without getting himself killed. There had to be some glimmer of reason remaining in the man's mind, he'd seen glimpses of it he was sure. Some of the questions he'd been asked illustrated that. He just had to figure out what to say to keep the man questioning. It was obvious that the soldier was intelligent, trying to fit what he'd been told into his perception of the world around him. Given enough information surely he would have to see that there was a conflict and reject his fantasy for what was real. The fact that it could just as easily go the other way was not something he wanted to dwell upon.

"Agent Eppes!"

The voices of the searching agents grew louder, whilst still muffled by distance and the closed door individual words were now discernable as they called for him. The man's head whipped towards the door listening intently for a moment before pulling his knife hand back much to Don's relief.

The soldier sprang to his feet, sheathing the knife. Returning to the kitchen the three guns were pulled from the drawer and cocked in turn. The two Glocks were left on the bench top as he kept the Russian's .45 semi-automatic in hand. He was preparing for war.

With a barricaded stronghold, weapons and a hostage, whether he saw it that way or not, his position was very strong. The situation was rapidly spirally out of control.

"Stop this before it goes too far." Don demanded and saw his words hit home.

"Too far? Too far is when my entire unit is killed! Too far is when they let me live so I can tell what they did to us! Too far is when they abandon me here to fend for myself! The Guard are everywhere, they wear disguises like yours." The man silenced his rant, marching up to his captive to bend over and snarl into his face. "I'll show them too far. Let them come and try to take you back!"

Trying hard not to flinch away Don realised that his demand had tipped the man's precious mental balance the wrong way driving him deeper into delusion. On one level he could now see a reason for the man's actions, the cause of his distress. The delivery of the horrifying tale left no doubt that the man believed in what he'd said. If true, he couldn't help but feel empathy for the trauma the soldier had been through. Whilst the rant had given him vital information he wasn't sure how he could use it to bring the soldier back to a point where he would listen to reason.

The sudden ring of his cell phone caused them both to jump. It was far later than he'd expected and the timing could certainly have been better, the muzzle of the .45 was jammed hard against his temple.

"What's that?"

Trying to slow his breathing down it took a moment before he could answer. Impatient at the delay the gun pressed harder. "My cell phone."

"Who is it?"

With the phone still in it's holder on his belt the identity of the caller was a matter of conjecture but he could make a good guess. "The FBI."

"FBI? They can help us?" The man's voice was hopeful, the gun withdrawn.

Blinking at the sudden mood swing Don seized on the chance. "Yes, they want to help. Untie me so I can answer it."

"No, no, no, no. Not going to do that. I'll talk to them." Pulling the cell from his captive's belt the man backed away. He stared at the phone a moment longer as it continued to ring, turning it over in his hand. It seemed he was trying to figure out how to answer the call, pulling at the casing before it finally flipped open. He raised it to his ear and listened a moment. "FBI? … Who? No, my name is Corporal Benjamin Haden. … I've caught one of them. Can you help?"

Listening to the conversation Don finally had a name for his captor, when all his efforts had failed it seemed that Haden trusted a voice over the phone. He appeared more than willing to seek help from the FBI. Unexpectedly the phone was thrust at him and held against his ear.

"They want to talk to you." Haden announced.

After a brief hesitation Don introduced himself unsure who was going to be on the other end, David was involved in the wrap up of an operation and was unavailable. "This is Agent Eppes."

"_Sir? I'm Agent Glen McNeal. What's your situation?"_

"Black." Unsure how long he would have on the phone he responded with the single word. It was a term that anyone from his building would understand. Code Black meant that lives were in danger.

Unfortunately Haden knew a codeword when he heard one and pulled the phone away, pressing it against his chest. "No codes."

"Okay, no codes. I'm sorry." Don apologised quickly.

Haden lifted the phone. "He's trying to get a code through in case this line is tapped by the Guard. Make him use plain language." The soldier listened to the reply before bending back down, holding the phone against his captive's ear. "Talk."

He wasn't going to waste this second chance, immediately obeying the order. "Agent McNeal?"

"_Guard? What's he on about? Can you talk?"_

"I'm here with Corporal Haden." Don stated neutrally, unsure what he could say without risking Haden's displeasure or causing another mood swing.

"_You can't talk. Alright, let's try yes/no answers." _McNeal suggested after a short moment. _"Is he listening to me?"_

"No."

"_Let's start at the top. He's holding you?" _McNeal's voice left no doubt that he knew the answer but he sought confirmation.

"Yes."

"_Is he armed?"_

Eying the three handguns and the KA-BAR knife, that was a most definite, "Yes."

"_Is anyone else with him?" _

"No."

"_The shouting, that was him?"_

"Yes." That explained the timing of the call. The soldier's rant had been heard and provided McNeal with a handle on what was happening, changing their approach.

"_We're just below you and working our way up. Are you hurt?"_ McNeal continued quickly, obviously working down a checklist and trying to get as far down it as possible before being cut off.

"Yes."

"_Badly?"_

"No." A broken hand and mild concussion, while very uncomfortable, were not serious enough to force McNeal's hand. Having the back-up team rush their response would only risk more lives unnecessarily.

"_What does he want?"_

This required more than a yes/no response. How could he answer the question in as few words as possible and yet get the full picture across? If he hesitated too long the phone would be taken away, the conversation had already gone far longer than he could have hoped for. "We're in Baghdad, the Republican Guard are after him. We need-" He broke off as the phone was finally pulled away and the gun raised.

"Enough." Haden ordered before speaking into the phone. "We're running out of time. The Guard are coming, I can hear them. Can you arrange a strike and extraction? … Hello?"

Don could only imagine what McNeal must be thinking on the other end of the phone, he'd had even less time to try to understand Haden's motivation and now the hostage had thrown a curve-ball. From Haden's next reaction it seemed McNeal had recovered and started speaking.

"Okay, hurry. I can't hold them off for long. Call back when you're in position. I'll be ready." Haden finished, searching for then pressing the button to disconnect the call before closing the phone.

He went back over to the window, checking the alley below before crossing the room to double-check the door and it's securing bar. He leant against it and listened.

Don closed his eyes and concentrated but could hear nothing. With the change in the situation forcing a change in tactics the FBI team had gone silent. "They've gone?"

Haden pulled back from the door, shaking his head. "No. They're still there."

"Let me up, I can help." Don tried tentatively.

"The feds think you're one of them."

"I am. You've seen my ID." The agent pressed. He doubted he was going to be able to talk Haden into surrendering but if he was freed from his restraints, he would have a chance at taking him down when the agents outside made their move.

Don's discarded ID lay on the floor a short distance away. Haden kicked it across the room in a flare of anger. "They didn't see you down there, hunting me. You're working for the Guard."

"We didn't realise who you were. I'm not-"

"Shut up!" Haden brought the gun back up. "You're trying to confuse me."

He started to open his mouth to argue back but the look in Haden's eyes stopped him. The soldier had shown his readiness to resort to violence to get his way, that threat was still all too real. Unable to think of any immediate alternatives the agent closed his mouth and eased back against the wall, lowering his eyes to complete the picture of submission. It had the desired effect, Haden relaxed after a few moments and backed off.

Don was suddenly reminded of Charlie's Chinese Box problem. Both he and Haden were inside the box, McNeal was the outsider. Under his brother's interpretation of the classic problem the power of negotiation should remain inside the box as it had begun there. But that just didn't apply here. He'd started the negotiation with Haden alright but it looked like he couldn't finish it, he was under too much suspicion whereas McNeal was accepted and trusted.

That left him with no choice, even if it was counter to his ingrained habit to take control he had to let go. It was all in McNeal's hands now.

The minutes that ticked by were increasingly difficult for the agent even knowing that his decision that he could have no further part in resolving the situation was the correct one. Nothing he'd said seemed to have any positive effect on the delusional soldier and had probably actually made things worse. He knew he still had some control issues, even if he was working through that by deliberately handing more and more over to David as the relief supervisor. But that couldn't prevent the feeling of helplessness. At least he'd managed to save both his and Colby's lives earlier and had managed, just, to keep himself alive until help could arrive.

Haden continued his agitated pacing, checking and rechecking his defences and weapons. His paranoia extended to his hostage as well, pulling Don forward at one point to check the integrity of the bonds around his wrists. Clamping his mouth shut and holding his breath as the soldier roughly jerked at the knots he managed to hold back any sound. By shutting down he hoped to reduce his importance in the man's worldview. The book suggested that a hostage should encourage his captor to see him as a person, unfortunately all of Don's efforts in that regard had backfired. Perhaps his best approach was to be seen as an object, a pawn that could be controlled and was no threat.

It seemed to be working, satisfied his prisoner was secure the man simply shoved him back and left him. Don's control faltered as the back of his head slammed into the wall causing stars to explode behind his eyes. For a moment his world narrowed to his head and the agony from his hand. Gasping he managed to hold onto awareness and slowly the pain eased. Somewhere during his recovery he became aware of more sirens approaching the building.

He wasn't sure how much more time passed before the pounding started on the door.

"FBI!"

.


	4. Chapter 4

**Numb3rs: Blindsided**

_**Disclaimer:**__ I don't own them, I just borrowed them. Numb3rs and its characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. No financial reward gained. All real places and organisations are used in a fictional sense. Original characters and the storyline are mine however._

**CHAPTER FOUR**

-10010-101-10011-11-10101-101-

The pounding continued as did the call of, "FBI."

"No! I know you're Guard." Haden yelled back. "I won't let you take him back. I'll kill him if you try to come in!"

The pounding suddenly stopped to be replaced a moment later by the ringing of Don's cell phone.

"Hurry, the Guard are here!" The soldier said desperately into the phone. "What? FBI? … They said they were, but the Guard-" He broke off as he was interrupted.

"Corporal Haden, this is Special Agent McNeal of the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

If the situation hadn't been so dangerous the expression on Haden's face as he looked at the phone and then the door and back again in quick succession would have been almost funny. McNeal had raised his voice so Haden could be in no doubt that the agent was in fact outside the door.

"You made it." Haden's voice was full of relief.

"We're here." McNeal's voice, still raised, came clearly through the door even as the soldier's comment had been made back into the phone.

"The Guard?"

"Gone. We don't have much time, the extraction team are waiting."

Don worried at this turn of events, McNeal was entering into the soldier's delusion. A dangerous move, one warned against in all their training back at Quantico. But then, a glance at Haden had him thinking the move was the correct one.

"It's safe?"

"We have to move." McNeal's voice took on the firmness of command. "Corporal, open the door."

Haden responded. "Sir, yes sir."

The soldier pulled Don to his feet by the simple expedient of grabbing him on the upper arm, his gasp of pain ignored. Getting his feet under him he staggered over to the door, stopping when the man tugged him back.

"I have a prisoner. What should I do with him?"

"Bring him." McNeal immediately answered.

"They're going to make you talk." Haden hissed into his captive's ear.

The sharp jerk on his arm caused Don's breath to catch, a reaction Haden took to be in response to his words if the feral grin was anything to go by.

The bar was lifted away from the back of the door before an arm tightened around his chest and he was dragged back towards the middle of the room. The soldier's gun came up to press against the side of his neck. Despite his apparent belief it was the FBI outside the door come to save him the man was taking no chances.

"It's open."

The handle turned and the door moved an inch before stopping. The arm around his chest tightened but that reaction was not visible to those outside. The door was given a push and swung fully open. The hall beyond was empty.

"Corporal, this is the FBI." McNeal's voice came from the right. "Send your prisoner out."

"I can't see you. I need to see you." Haden demanded.

A few seconds passed before there was any movement then a man stepped into view. McNeal was wearing a navy blue windbreaker with yellow letters 'FBI' bright upon the sleeves. The same letters in white were stencilled across the black ballistic vest he wore underneath. His Glock was held down at his side, no threat to the soldier. The white knuckled grip on the weapon betrayed his nervousness at exposing himself. His eyes flickered over the solder before he sought out Don's, trying to assess his condition without appearing too sympathetic.

"They just sent you? One man?"

"I have a team here." The agent's eyes shifted the left then the right, giving a single nod each time. At the order five more agents cautiously appeared, all dressed similarly to their leader. The exception was that each had their weapons raised and aimed into the room strictly according to procedure. McNeal saw the soldier tense at the threat and swing his gun up to aim at the team. McNeal made an urgent lowering motion with his left hand. The weapons dropped slightly. "Corporal, we don't have any time. Send your prisoner out and we'll secure him."

The arm around his chest suddenly loosened, dropping away. The gun moved to a point between his shoulder blades and pushed. Don moved, walking towards the door and the rescue team. He kept his pace slow, acutely aware of the gun that he knew was still aimed at his back. It wouldn't do to appear too eager, he was after all a prisoner being handed over to new captors. He reached the threshold and continued out into the hall as McNeal and his team backed up giving him room. He glanced at McNeal in time to see the agent give the slightest of winks.

"Take him." McNeal ordered.

Two agents moved in, taking Don firmly by the arms and moving him a short distance down the hall.

"Play along, sir." The man on his right murmured.

They stopped and turned to face back towards the room. No attempt was made to free him from his bonds, instead the two agents continued to hold him putting on a show. Understanding McNeal's play Don waited, he was safe but the other agent was remaining in character, trying to resolve the rest of the situation without bloodshed.

McNeal was now standing slightly to the side of the door, not as exposed as before. Don's view of Haden was blocked by the angle but he suspected that the soldier hadn't moved.

"Quickly, Corporal." McNeal snapped. "We only have a small window to act. The vehicles are waiting."

"I'm going home?" Haden's voice queried, the softest Don had heard the man speak.

"Yes, Soldier. Home."

McNeal backed up a pace as Haden stepped from the room and into Don's view. The soldier's defences were down in relief at his impending rescue from Baghdad and repatriation to the US. He shoved the .45 into his belt and held out his hand to shake those of his saviours.

Don's conscience twinged as he knew what was about to happen.

McNeal holstered his own weapon before taking the soldier's offered hand. His left came across, as if to add emphasis to the social convention. The moment the agent's two hands held Haden's master hand in a firm grip he set himself and yanked hard, pulling the unsuspecting man off balance.

Haden was unbelievably quick, reacting instantly to the attack striking at the agent with his unencumbered left hand. McNeal was knocked back but maintained his grip, his bodyweight now putting Haden even further off balance. The other two agents moved in, adding their own weight in a combined tackle to drag Haden to the floor. The soldier continued to fight, trying to get a hand free to reach his belt. The struggle was intense, the three agents working hard to subdue a near berserker strength Haden.

"Go, go, go!" Don ordered the two agents with him.

Without argument the final two agents joined the fray. One reached in and was able to pull first the KA-BAR knife and then the .45 out of the soldier's reach tossing them safely away. The cries of 'traitor!' were replaced with those of pain as the agents were forced to resort to nerve holds to gain enough control to place Haden into handcuffs without causing him serious injury.

Finally it was over, Haden lying facedown and still yelling 'traitor!' along with other less than savoury epithets. The agents held him securely as he continued to struggle whilst they regained their breath. Two agents disengaged themselves a few moments later, one entering Haden's apartment, the other heading towards the former hostage. It was McNeal. He stooped to pick up the KA-BAR knife along the way.

"Let me get your hands for you, sir."

Don turned, giving the man access to his wrists. "Careful, my left is broken."

The knife sliced gently through the cord and he was finally free. He carefully brought his hands back around in front of him to inspect the damage. The left was badly swollen around the wrist and palm, the fingers appearing ridiculously small as a result. His right wrist was also swollen and showed clear signs of bruising but at least he was still able to flex the fingers. Both hands had red welts from the cord that had tightened as his hands swelled. He cradled both to his chest and leant back against the wall. There was nothing he could do for the continual pounding in his head.

"Thanks."

"Are you going to be able to make it downstairs? We have EMT's waiting."

"I'm good." He answered, he was steady on his feet and that was plenty good enough. "What about Colby? How's my partner?"

"He was pretty groggy when we reached him. The EMTs said he had concussion, but they think he should be alright. He's been taken to hospital." McNeal reported. He lifted the knife briefly. "What happened? We found a dead man in one of the apartments with one of these in his chest."

The agent that had entered the apartment reappeared with the two Glocks as Don started to relate the events of the last hour. Haden was wrestled to his feet then manhandled past and forced to the steps, McNeal moving protectively in front of him when they went by. The agents made slow progress with their prisoner as they fought to maintain their balance on the way down. After waiting a moment before following, Don continued the tale with McNeal hovering close to help him if needed.

The exited the building, EMTs immediately making a bee-line towards the injured agent. Led off towards the ambulance Don couldn't help but keep Haden under observation.

The man had stopped his yelling but was breathing deeply and even if he was no longer resisting he was moving stiffly as he held every muscle tense, waiting for his chance to escape. Not giving him one the agents moved him towards a waiting LAPD black & white, the caged vehicle the best available means for transporting him. After he was placed into the rear without incident the officers were given instructions to take him immediately to a secure psychiatric facility for assessment. It was made more than clear to the escorting officers that their charge was extremely violent. A second car left to shadow the first.

He could finally relax, allowing the EMTs to settle him onto a stretcher as they started work. McNeal returned just as he was being loaded into the back of the vehicle to head off to hospital.

"I've called the psych ward. They're expecting him."

Don pulled the green pethidine inhaler away from his lips. "Good, he needs help."

"I don't feel good tricking him like that." McNeal admitted.

"I know." They could hardly have helped the man with the betrayal. "But you made the right decision, getting both of us out alive. The book wasn't working."

"Thanks, sir." He stared off in the direction the black & whites had long ago disappeared. "I don't think he'll be facing any charges out of this."

Don knew that the brief would still be compiled but instead of being presented to the DA it would go instead to a psychiatric board who would determine whether Benjamin Haden was well enough to stand trial for his actions. Don agreed with McNeal, Haden wouldn't stand trial. It was an outcome that he could be happy with despite the fact that a Russian hitman had been killed and two agents injured by the man. The soldier needed treatment, not incarceration.

The doors closed and the ambulance started on its way. Taking a long drag on the inhaler Don relaxed further and allowed himself to drift as the pain relief took hold.

The next afternoon Don was settled back on his favourite couch at the Craftsman. Alan and Charlie had brought him home only a few hours before after having to spend the evening at the hospital under observation for possible side effects of the concussion. His left hand was encased in plaster, two bones in his hand and one in his wrist were broken. It had also been dislocated explaining why the pain had been so bad. His right was not so bad, bruising and soft tissue damage.

Colby unfortunately was going to have to remain in hospital for another day, his condition more serious after being blindsided and dropped with a single blow. The doctors had initially expected a fractured skull but the X-rays were clear much to everyone's relief.

"So what did Agent McNeal have to say?" Alan was asking.

He accepted the offered glass of water. His throat was still extremely sore, the multicolour bruising just now starting to reach full visibility. They were readying him to answer questions, Charlie was just now closing the door behind McNeal after a brief visit to bring him up to date. He waited while Charlie settled himself across from him before answering. "Haden's being looked after. It's too soon yet for any treatment to have started."

"Why wasn't he in care in the first place, a man like that, a hero, surely he didn't just slip through the cracks?" While Alan may have issues with warfare he understood bravery and respected the men who fought.

"No, pop." That had been one of his first questions too. "He was getting treatment in San Francisco, his home town and they'd thought him well enough to try and ease him back into society. They don't know what happened, at first all was well but then he vanished. They never expected to find him here, away from all his family."

"So was all that true then, what he told you about his unit being killed?" Charlie leant forward.

"Yeah. The military wouldn't tell McNeal where or when it happened but confirmed that Haden's unit had been taken out just as he'd said. He was rescued by an extraction team sent in after them. He recovered from his injuries but couldn't cope with being the only survivor and was sent home for care."

"Given that he thought you were working for them you were lucky."

Very, very lucky. Don was under no illusions about that. With the benefit of more time to think on it he knew now it was not so much the announcement of being FBI that had saved him in the corridor but that he was clearly American, not Iraqi. As time with Haden passed that became of less significance, the soldier thinking he was a double agent of some kind and his value became that of a source of intelligence.

"So what was he doing in that abandoned building?"

"From what he told me I gather he thought he was hiding out, waiting for someone to rescue him. McNeal was saying that he'd gained a reputation in the area, the homeless and street kids keeping their distance thinking he was dangerous." That explained what he'd noted on entering the building, the lack of graffiti, the unbroken windows and no signs of other habitation. It all made sense now.

"They were right on that." Alan commented. "But how was he feeding himself?"

"He was seen outside, getting food from the soup kitchens around the area. He always kept to himself but would react if anyone came too close, McNeal was told he even spoke Arabic at times. We think he must have been trying to blend in, given that he thought he was in Baghdad."

"That must have been tough." Charlie said, shaking his head in sympathy. "He'll get the help he needs now though. Someday I hope I might be able to help with cases like his."

"Your Cognitive Emergence work?"

"Sure. By understanding how the brain works we'll be able to determine the reason behind why some people can't cope with certain experiences." Charlie was off and running.

Don listened, it was very interesting but he eased back as his brother explained his hope for his work. It may not be in time to help Haden, he had to rely on conventional treatments, but someday Charlie's work would be invaluable to men in situations like his. He resolved to encourage Charlie to continue his efforts.

END

_**A/N:** There you have it, the end of another wild ride for our favourite FBI agent. As always I thank those of you who have read and alerted this fic. I add special mention for those who have reviewed, THANK-YOU!_


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